Keyword: brown

  • What Does The Fox Say?

    “What Does The Fox Say?” by Jason Kotecki. 24 x 30. Oil on canvas.
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    Have you ever texted someone a question and then those three little dots pop up as they formulate their reply? 

    You know the three dots.

    Depending on how consequential their response is, that delay can feel like an eternity, right?

    We want answers now, but sometimes they take a while to come.

    From the very beginning of our relationship, Kim and I talked about living in a lake home one day, surrounded by tall pine trees. It took over twenty years to come true, which was approximately nineteen more than I expected.

    Over that prolongated waiting period, I asked God what was taking so long many times. I never got a concrete answer. (At least not one that kept me from asking it again, three months later.)

    When we grow impatient waiting for an answer, we are prone to make up our own.

    I figured maybe God didn’t hear me. Maybe He was hard of hearing. Maybe He was waiting for me to pray harder. Maybe I wasn’t good enough. Maybe He didn’t think I deserved it.

    The thing is, I never got the sense that God was saying no. Sometimes I wished he would, because the waiting was so difficult, as He wasn’t exactly responding with an obvious yes. Just twenty years of three dots.

    After the dream home materialized, in the middle of a global pandemic, when we thought we might lose everything, so did the answer. It became clear that He was doing important work in me that mattered more to Him than the dream home, and that kind of work takes time.

    Eighteen months after moving in, a storm rolled into Sheboygan, and a terrible straight-line wind ripped through our backyard. It destroyed 150 trees, uprooting our forest oasis and plunging us into debilitating debt.

    Again, I came to God with a question: Why?

    This time, my faith was stronger than the roots of the pine trees that couldn’t stand up to the storm. I knew something good would come from the nightmare, but the three dots lingered for longer than I would have liked. I leaned on a question that got us through the pandemic, and one I share almost every time I’m on stage: 

    “Now that this has happened, what does this make possible?”

    A week after the storm, I took my family to breakfast. After we ordered, I turned to a blank page in a journal and asked my wife and kids to dream with me. What was possible now that the storm had taken all our trees? One by one, we built our list as we envisioned a bright future.

    It took a few months for the professional lumberjacks to clear the trees, level our property, and for the new grass to take root. But now we have a stunning, unobstructed view of Lake Michigan and a vast stretch of green to play baseball and bocce, and frisbee. We’ve hosted several Moonrise Movie Nights with friends and family. We installed a fire pit, a bird bath, and other whimsical touches that make our hearts sing. We recently planted fruit trees that we hope will yield ingredients for homemade pies, and we hope to add some legacy trees that will look gorgeous in the fall.

    When people who knew our old backyard see our new one, they often lower their voices to a whisper and say, “I hate to say it, but I think it’s even better now!”

    And you know what? They are right. We do miss the trees, but we like this version of our backyard even better. And never in a million years would we have had the gall to cut down 150 perfectly good trees to get it.

    Meanwhile, even though insurance didn’t pay for any of the backyard cleanup or restoration, it did give us a new roof, which was due to be replaced. And the debt, which is steadily being paid down, has drawn me even closer to God, which is right where He wants me.

    So what about you?

    Are you in a spot where you are waiting for answers, and all you’ve received so far are the three dots? 

    I can’t tell you when the answers will come, but they will. Maybe not till the next life, but maybe sooner than you think.

    As you wait for answers, don’t be so quick to make up your own.

  • The Wingman

    “The Wingman” by Jason Kotecki. 60 x 40. Oil on canvas.
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    Life is amazing. It is also hard.

    The war against Adultitis is a grueling one that will last your lifetime. But that shouldn’t keep you from trying to soak it with water balloons.

    Your happiness depends on it.

    Now, you’ll need two things in the fight against Adultitis: water balloons and a wingman.

    A Water Balloon is anything joyful that induces playfulness, laughter, merriment, or wonder. The most powerful ones appear frivolous, done for no particular reason other than fun.

    My late father-in-law Gary had a long fight with chronic pain. His faith sustained him, along with a diverse array of water balloons to help him fight, such as Chuck Norris jokes, air shows, Ernest movies, and April Fools pranks.

    My water balloons include: Dad jokes. My Funko Pop collection. Pajama runs. Dance parties. Photobombing my family’s photos. Watching Parks and Rec reruns.

    A Wingman is someone who encourages you to throw water balloons at Adultitis, and when you do, is at the ready with another one. It’s someone you can be goofy with and have fun with, who doesn’t roll their eyes at your silliness or denigrate the things that light you up.

    My wingman is my wife. And my kids. And the members of the Wonder & Whimsy Society.

    Sometimes a wingman is hard to come by. One of my favorite things about our tribe of Adultitis Fighters is that it provides a place for people on an island, without a wingman in their immediate vicinity. The Escape Adulthood League is an army of wingmen (and women) with water balloons at the ready.

    Not only do we each need a wingman, but we are also called to be a wingman for others. That’s what this movement we’re building together is about. Every single one of us can encourage others to embrace their inner child. To embrace their guilty pleasures and to celebrate the things that make them weird.

    So collect as many water balloons as you can. Summon your wingman.

    This is war.

    And Adultitis is about to get wet.

  • The Only Prescription

    “The Only Prescription” by Jason Kotecki. 12 x 12. Oil on canvas.
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    Somehow, the television show Saturday Night Live took a lowly old cowbell and turned it into a pop culture phenomenon.

    The famous skit imagines a studio session with the band Blue Öyster Cult recording their hit song “(Don’t Fear) The Reaper.” Christopher Walken, as “rock legend” Bruce Dickinson (“the cock of the walk, baby!”), singles out the little-used percussion instrument, played by Will Ferrell. Hilarity ensues as Dickinson urges the band to highlight the cowbell in the song.

    Now the script was funny, and Walken and the other actors nailed their performances. But what is most interesting to me is that Ferrell and playwright Donnell Campbell, who co-wrote the sketch, first had to notice the cowbell in the original song by Blue Öyster Cult.

    They noticed something most people didn’t and saw an opportunity.

    During a family vacation in Mexico, we bought a coconut drink from a roadside vendor for about $2. We enjoyed the drink and threw out the shell. (What else would we do with it?) Then I recalled some of the restaurants we visited where frozen drinks were served in coconut shells with tiny umbrellas. Undoubtedly, those drinks sold for a higher price than the same one served in a boring old glass.

    A “useless” coconut shell was transformed into something of value. Enterprising business owners had literally turned garbage into money.

    Of course, flea markets and thrift stores do the exact same thing. And people who buy and flip fixer-uppers? Where most people see a dilapidated lost cause, they see a tidy profit and a future feature in a glossy magazine.

    The most successful people see opportunities that others miss.

    I’d argue that it’s not a talent; it’s a habit. In the middle of the Panic of 1873, a six-year recession, Thomas Edison invented the incandescent light bulb. In 1876, he established GE (General Electric Co.), which is now the third-largest company in the world.

    In the late 1970s, the United States experienced an energy crisis, and inflation ballooned out of control, causing a major recession that lasted for thirty months.

    In the midst of this economic storm, Applebee’s, Ben & Jerry’s, Olive Garden, and Fuddruckers were founded. In fact, all of the following entities were formed during a recession: Burger King, The Jim Henson Company, FedEx, CNN, Hewlett-Packard, MTV, Hyatt Hotels, Trader Joe’s, Sports Illustrated, and Wikipedia.

    The first Apple Store opened in the recession of 2001 and was declared dead on arrival. Which, of course, it wasn’t; it was so successful that in the recession of 2008, many people considered Apple Stores to be recession-proof.

    And according to Forbes, the COVID crisis was a catapult for launching over 4 million new small business ventures, the largest eruption in the history of our country.

    I remember talking to an elderly real estate tycoon during that economic nosedive of 2008. He grumbled about how all everyone seemed to do was complain about the bad economy. All he could see was an abundance of opportunities, and he lamented that he didn’t have enough years left to take advantage of them all.

    Most of the time, the difference between success and failure is determined by what we decide to see.

    Indeed, the best time to buy stock is when the market is down.

    The best time to start a business is when the economy is bad.

    The best business ideas solve real problems.

    We need you to look at the world as a child would, with big dreams, boundless optimism, and a vision of what’s possible.

    We need you to see through new eyes and find the opportunity that is right under your nose.

    We need more cowbell.

  • Spring Break

    “Spring Break” by Jason Kotecki. 12 x 12. Oil on canvas.
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    “All the King’s horses and all the King’s men couldn’t put Humpty Dumpty back together again.”

    iPhone screens. Windows. Windshields. Bones. Baseball bats. Helmets. Even Humpty Dumpty.

    When something is cracked, we often think of it as ruined, useless, irredeemably broken.

    But when a bird’s egg cracks while in the confines of its nest, it is a sign of new life, a fresh beginning. Only moments before the first crack, the egg is pure, smooth, unbroken. Then the crack happens, disrupting the calm surface of the egg. 

    But what emerges next is something new and beautiful.

    Our business had its best year ever in 2019. Speaking in person, on live stages, was the biggest driver of revenue. Who would have predicted that such a business model could vanish so quickly? But of course, it did, thanks to the arrival of a tiny, unwelcome virus.

    Almost overnight, as speaking engagements went up in smoke, our business model cracked. Our future looked bleak. But we clung more fervently to our faith and were bolstered by the support of past clients and the merry band of Adultitis Fighters who had assembled behind us over the previous twenty years.

    We pivoted to a virtual world, developed a super secret membership community, and developed new skills that ushered in new opportunities. Not only did we survive, but we thrived, and ended up buying our dream home on the edge of Lake Michigan amidst the turmoil.

    It was an imaginable outcome twelve months earlier, but made possible thanks to an unwelcome disruption.

    A year and a half after we moved in, we countered another bad “break.” A 112-mph straight-line wind tore through our neighborhood and decimated our backyard, leaving a mess of uprooted trees and an enormous pile of debt in its wake.

    It was rough. We were safe, and it could have been worse, but we were broken. Fast forward another year and a half, and I am only now fully realizing the full scope of blessings that came forth from that challenging chapter.

    Sometimes our life cracks.

    Plans go south. Failures mount. Tragedy strikes.

    We lose the game, our health, or someone we love.

    We feel irredeemably broken.

    But that doesn’t have to be the end of the story. In fact, it might just be the start of a new and better one.

    This painting is a reminder of that first Easter morning, when something that undoubtedly felt like the end of the line miraculously turned into a glorious new beginning.

    Maybe something in your life has cracked recently.

    Is it broken, or the start of a new opportunity?

  • Where The Party’s At

    “Where The Party’s At” by Jason Kotecki. 16 x 20. Oil on canvas.
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    Piñatas are great fun, but only if they actually contain candy. We may be drawn in by the bright colors that promise a good time, but it’s quite a disappointment if, after a few whacks, it’s revealed that there’s actually nothing inside. Whomp whomp.

    The thing that makes a piñata so irresistible is what’s inside.

    The idea behind this painting is that if you’ve got a piñata, you’ve got a party, even if you’re in the middle of a barren wasteland. It was inspired by a song by the Newsboys, called “Wherever We Go.”

    Here are some of the lyrics:

    Wherever we go, the dumb get wise
    And the crime rates drop and the markets rise
    It’s a curious thing
    But it’s just our thing

    Bullies make nice, crooks repent
    And the Ozone layer shows improvement
    It’s a curious thing
    And it’s humbling

    Where we’re led, all the living dead
    Wanna leave their zombie mob
    It’s a touching scene when they all come clean
    God help us, we just love our job

    Hands up, holler back now
    We don’t claim any know-how
    We’re giving God all that
    Wherever we go, that’s where the party’s at

    One of the reasons this song has always resonated with me is that it feels like my life. I am a professional permission granter. I encourage people to make ugly cakes, to draw on their children, and break stupid rules. I make colorful paintings featuring objects with smiley faces on them. When people hire me to speak, they gain permission to have all kinds of fun with the theme and branding. People love it when I bring my family with me to gigs.

    It feels like wherever we go, that’s where the party’s at.

    That being said, I have a confession to make: I have never been the life of a party, and our family is not as fun as you think it is.

    Don’t get me wrong. We do have fun together, we do more than our fair share of kitchen dancing, and Adultitis is not welcome in our home. But I often get the sense that people think that living in our house is like being on an episode of Pee Wee’s Playhouse. Well, if you’re old enough to remember that puppet-fueled gem of a show, today’s secret word is: “letdown.”

    Even as we prepare to leave our beloved neighborhood in Madison for new shenanigans in Sheboygan, our neighbors are flooding us with heartfelt well-wishes. It appears we will be missed. And although I’ve never felt I’ve misrepresented what life is like in our family, I got the sense that people were seeing something more.

    One day, I realized people were resonating with more than our outside appearances and outward actions. Like a piñata, what people are really attracted to is what’s inside us. 

    Our joy.

    In my twenty years of writing and speaking, I haven’t talked that much about my faith, preferring to live by the old St. Francis adage, “Preach the gospel always, and if necessary use words.” But the truth is, our faith is what drives everything.

    It’s where our joy comes from. I know some people don’t have it, but I can’t imagine my life without it. It’s what sustained us in the long periods of darkness when we were in debt and didn’t know if we’d ever make a living with the business. The Holy Spirit is what stirs my imagination and gives me the courage to do things I never could have imagined as a shy, scared little boy.

    In our household, we are celebrating the season of Advent as we prepare our Christmas. My favorite song of this time is O Come Emmanuel. 

    Emmanuel means “God with us.” 

    And that’s the difference between a party and an empty piñata filled with nothing but disappointment. 

    Some consider faith to be a crutch. An opiate for the masses. But I see my faith as a gift. 

    I don’t know how to give it to someone, but I do know this: People are searching for happiness, but what I think they really crave is joy, which is deeper and less fleeting.

    Joy is an inside job.

    If you have it, wherever you go, that’s where the party’s at.